


Decepticam

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz has been captured by the Decepticons. He’s already performed the difficult part of his mission, but now he has to escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mech on a Mission

He thought about the time Ratchet installed a set of LEDs in Powerglide's chest during repairs. The lights had formed a human romantic symbol which flashed on and off whenever Powerglide opened his chest plates. The flier hadn’t been impressed, but Ratchet and Ironhide had laughed their afts off.

It brought a smile to Jazz’s lips. Even here, in the creaking bowels of the Nemesis, where the salt water seemed ready to pour in at any second, and the only thing he had to listen to was the constant stream of curses floating in from the next cell over.

Torture, that's what it was. No one should have to listen to that voice, regardless of what it was shrieking.

"Astrotrain! Astrotrain, are you listening to me!" Starscream yelled. On the far side of the room, Astrotrain's wings twitched just a little. Jazz smirked, maybe this would have its up side after all.

"I _said_ , are you listening to me?"

"Sure, Screamer, I'm listening." Astrotrain's optics dimmed for a moment. _Patience is a virtue_ , Jazz thought.

"Pit-spawned slagger," Starscream muttered. "One of these days, I'm going to tear out his laser core and make him eat it."

Astrotrain said something that sounded suspiciously like “Wouldn’t that be kinda impossible,” but Starscream ignored him.

Jazz didn't bother wondering why Starscream was also in the brig. By the sound of things, it happened quite often.

The door beside Astrotrain swished open, revealing a patch of lighter grey in the gloom. Jazz caught a small buzz of static from the next cell over, as though someone was about to continue screeching, but thought better of it.

"Bring out the prisoner," Megatron said, then turned and stalked off out of sight.

Jazz suppressed a shiver, and ran a final diagnostics check. Weapons: offline; transformation gears: inoperable; energy levels: 45.2%; speaker system: fragged. Everything else was fine, apart from a long scratch along his left door where Blitzwing had struggled to hold him, and a dent in his pectoral plating from Thundercracker's fist. Oh, and the world of scorch marks, but that was just cosmetic.

"Slagging spawn of a Quintesson," Starscream muttered.

Jazz tensed as the bright pink bars of his cell fizzled to nothing, and he was left staring at the business end of Astrotrain's ionic displacer rifle.

"Get moving, Autoglitch," Astrotrain growled. Jazz winced at the activation of a set of energon cuffs, and Astrotrain shoved him gracelessly towards the door.

Out of the brig, the walls gleamed dully and the floors shone. Despite the creaking, there wasn’t a touch of decay in the place. Voices echoed from every direction; shouts and arguments, whoops of celebration, laugher and a low buzz of conversation. With Astrotrain behind him, and the busy halls of the Nemesis stretching out in front, Jazz could see his chances of freedom shrinking by the astrosecond.

They vanished completely when Astrotain pushed him through an open doorway and into a room very solidly occupied by Megatron and Soundwave. The door hissed closed, and he heard what sounded suspiciously like a lock clicking into place.

Megatron gave Jazz a casual once over. "Secure him to the interrogation platform."

Jazz glared back, struggling as best he could while Astrotrain and Soundwave tied him tightly to the high metal bench.

"Which one is this?" Megatron asked.

"Inconclusive." Soundwave replied. "Analysing,"

Jazz gaped. "You don't know who I am?" He yelped as the rim of Megatron's fusion cannon jabbed him under the chin. To his horror, it was warm.

"You think you're worthy of my attention, you pathetic waste of scrap metal?" Another jab, and a blaze of red optics. "Arrogant little glitch."

"Analysis complete," Soundwave announced. "Autobot sub-commander. Designation: Jazz."

"A bit small, isn't he?" Megatron said, and prodded Jazz in the fender.

"Affirmative." Soundwave adjusted the platform so Jazz was leaning back, putting uncomfortable pressure on his doors. "Perhaps Prime could find no one larger?"

"Ha! Yes. They’re all so pathetically puny." Megatron stepped back and crossed his arms. He flashed Jazz a wholly unpleasant smile. "Begin."

Jazz tensed, but to his surprise no bizarre bladed gadgets dipped whirring from the ceiling; no cruelly adapted medical tools popped up on a side table, and Soundwave's outstretched hand failed to transform into a torturer's drill. Instead, Soundwave's optics dimmed, and a strange low humming vibrated through the platform, shaking Jazz to his bolts.

"Ah slag," Jazz hissed, as the first touch of whatever freaky power Soundwave possessed slithered through his processor; this was going to be bad.

"Designation," Soundwave said.

Jazz gritted his denta and kept his mouth firmly shut.

"Command: state your designation."

An instant of searing pain, and Jazz could no longer tell up from down.

"Y'already know my name!" he yelled.

Soundwave's battle mask moved slightly, the ripple of a smile, perhaps, and a warning began to pulse in Jazz's HUD. Desperately, he clung to the one solid thought that he could find - Ratchet and Ironhide curled over in laughter, while Powerglide walked innocently past.

"Explain," Soundwave ordered, but Jazz focused on the image: the bright sun on the pavement, the gleam of red as Optimus stood stoically by. It wasn't even his own memory; it had come from Ratchet when they'd had to explain, afterwards, why Powerglide wasn't talking to them any more. Optimus... the thought was snatched away, analysed, and spat back. His gyros went crazy; he felt as though he was about to purge his tanks.

"Good," Soundwave commented, and it was a whisper, coming not through the air, but through a slender cable which had somehow slithered its way into the port on Jazz’s wrist. When had that happened?

Distantly, he heard Rumble call out: "Boss, Blitzwing's back! He's requesting landing clearance." And Megatron replied: "Raise the tower."

The tower! His ticket out of there. Slag the ocean. He'd crossed open water before, he could do it again.

"I think not," Soundwave said, and renewed his attack. Jazz fought the degradation of his firewalls, too slow to present an effective resistance as Soundwave copied everything he could find; memories and access codes, fragments of programming, file after file of music...

"Uh, Boss?" Rumble's voice again, and Jazz still couldn't see him. Couldn't see anything but the whirlpool of colour and synthetic movement. "Boss?"

"What?" Megatron snapped.

"We got a problem."

"Can it wait?"

The answer was evidently no, because the flood of data slowed as Soundwave split his attention. Jazz took the opportunity to test his bonds, and the platform swayed a little from side to side.

Megatron hissed something, low and full of static; Jazz couldn't make it out.

"I can't, boss!" Rumble cried. "It's stuck!"'

"Soundwave!" Megatron snapped. "Get over here and fix this."

"Interrogation incomplete," Soundwave said. "Desired outcome unfulfilled."

"Now!" Megatron shouted.

There was a pause, only slightly longer than was necessary, before Soundwave complied. Jazz gasped as the connecting cable fell away, curling serpentine back into Soundwave's arm. He reeled, vents wheezing as his overheated systems struggled to cool down.

Rumble's voice echoed through the room, and the ghost of a smile crept back onto Jazz’s lips.

"I can't lower the tower! Soundwave, it won't budge!"

Then Blitzwing's voice, crackling and panicked, "They're everywhere, Lord Megatron, I didn't see them, I'm so sorry! Let me in!"

"You didn't see them?" Megatron cried. "You've got radar, you stupid glitch! You've got sonar! You've got an array of disgustingly sophisticated hardware that the Autobots can only dream of and you couldn't see the fraggers sneaking up on you in a landscape filled with nothing but water and air? Request denied. If you survive, and I want to make it very clear that this is a big if, you're to report immediately to the brig regardless of your injuries, understood?"

"Yes, Lord Megatron." Blitzwing replied.

"Astrotrain, get everyone up to the tower, but don’t open that door. Starscream!"

Jazz wondered if he'd heard correctly. It certainly seemed as though Megatron was shouting for his air commander, but surely the screaming one was still locked up? Jazz rebooted his optics in the hope it would clear the blind spots, and tried to steady his head.

"Starscream: incarcerated," Soundwave announced, and his voice sounded muffled.

Jazz strained against the strap around his neck, but could only see the blue expanse of Soundwave’s back, hunched over a large bank of machinery.

"Frag!" Megatron swore. "Rumble, go get him."

"Yes, boss!"

"And as for you..."

Jazz felt the fuel freeze in his pipes as Megatron turned to face him. "You're nothing but a smear of slag on the filthy crust of this stinking planet. Hold still."

Trying to keep the quiver from his vocaliser, Jazz said, "Forget you locked up your SIC, huh?"

"Silence, scum." Megatron uncoiled a cable, and lay it across Jazz’s hood.

"Easy mistake to make," Jazz continued, keeping a singsong cheerfulness in his voice. He tried to ignore the scratch of Megatron's fingers digging under his bumper. "Must be hard, not knowing where you put your second. Like not being able to tell your enemies apart."

Jazz screamed as a blazing white agony seared through his circuits.

"Must be hard," Megatron snarled. "Being so small and fragile."

A click and a hiss as the door opened. “You’ve finally come to your senses, oh mighty Megatron?” Starscream loomed into Jazz’s field of vision; a large blue finger taped him on the helm. “Having fun, are we?”

“We were until you turned up,” Jazz said, but his vision was swimming again, and he could feel energon and coolant leaking from the fresh wounds.

“The Autobots are attacking,” Megatron said. “Get up to the tower and do something about it.”

“Just retract the tower,” Starscream said. Jazz couldn’t make out his expression, but he sounded as smug and disdainful as usual.

There was a small pause, and when Megatron spoke it seemed very much as though he was trying to keep his temper. “Prime shot out the data relay,” he hissed. “We can’t retract the tower.”

“Well,” said Starscream. “I’d love to help, you know I would, but there’s the small matter of my null rays.”

Jazz gasped as Starscream placed his palms on his abdomen and pressed, leaning over him towards Megatron; slag, he was heavy.

“If you want me to fix your little problem, I’m going to need my weapons back.”

“You don’t deserve your weapons, you insolent pile of scrap.”

Somewhere above them, a very loud explosion caused a very low boom to reverberate through the ship.

“My null rays?” Starscream asked sweetly.

“Small arms locker,” Megatron snapped. “Level five. Now get the frag out of here! Soundwave, report!”

“Tower inoperable.” Soundwave said, and even his usual monotone sounded strained.

“Just fix it!” Megatron yelled, and this time his voice was a little further away.

Jazz rebooted his optics again and gave his bonds another try. The platform swayed, perhaps a little less stable than before, and his vision returned, but only by 67%, and the blind spots were right in the centre.

“Boss, they’re in! _Boss!_ ” Rumble hurtled past, catching the corner of the platform hard with his arm. Jazz’s gyros went crazy, and his optics registered a flash of wall, a glimpse of the aft end of Megatron, then a crash of sizzling blue as his helm struck the floor. The momentum sent him rolling, and he realised with a surge of glee that whatever Rumble had knocked had triggered his bonds to snap open.

“I can see that,” Megaton snapped. “Get back up there.”

Jazz lay still, waiting for the ‘cons to notice something was awry, for someone to turn around and see him sprawled on the floor a mere fifteen feet from the fallen platform. But Rumble rushed straight past him, and Astrotrain was nowhere to be seen; Soundwave was still trying to fix the signal to the tower, and Megatron was distracted by an array of monitors, on which the only thing moving was the flash of laser fire.

Slowly, careful to make as little noise as possible on the polished metal floor, Jazz made a break for it. The door was still open, Rumble must have forgotten to lock it on his way out. Jazz snuck through, and around the corner, not wanting to glance behind just in case Megatron was standing right there, fusion cannon aimed.

The corridor was empty, and so was the next one. Jazz had no real idea where he was going, he just followed the faint sound of explosions, keeping close to the wall.

He sent a quick locational pulse on Optimus’s frequency, just in case, but didn’t dare activate his comms.

The sounds of battle grew louder, ricocheting off the walls and floor and ceiling. Jazz became bolder, his own movements hidden now by the clatter and the shouting, and it wasn’t until his arm was gripped from behind and twisted around his back that he realised he wasn’t alone.

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?” That caustic voice, oh slag. Starscream tightened his grip, the barrel of one of his null rays poking into the back of Jazz’s neck.

“Get off me, Decepticreep!” Jazz struggled, kicking back against Starscream’s legs, but the seeker only tightened his grip.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Starscream said. “I’m going to enjoy the look on Megatron’s face when I bring you back. I bet the malfunction hasn’t even noticed you’re missing.”

“He know you talk about him like this?” Jazz asked, raising his voice in the hope there was an Autobot close enough to hear. He wished his alt mode speakers were working, then he could really add some volume. “What you get put in the brig for anyway, insubordination?”

Starscream laughed. “Something like that. Now get moving.”

Jazz stumbled, stalling for time. Surely Optimus and Ironhide would have smashed through the Decepticon defences already. Surely they were only a few corners away; the sounds of battle were certainly loud enough.

“Come on, get moving.”

Jazz grinned, an idea occurring to him. “Does he know how you insult him in front of enemy prisoners?”

“What?”

“I suppose it’s different in front of other ‘cons, they know the score.” Jazz paused a moment to let this sink in. “But do you think he’d be pleased for Prime to know what you call him, what you want to do to him? Do you think he’d be interested in what I heard earlier in the brig? I recorded it,” he lied. “Soundwave didn’t finish his interrogation, he didn’t get that file.”

“You can’t have,” Starscream said, but he sounded uncertain.

Jazz cranked up his vocaliser, adjusting pitch and tone, and added just the slightest burr of static. “ _Pit-spawned slagger. One of these days, I'm going to tear out his laser core and make him eat it_.”

The impression was uncanny and, for once, Starscream was silent.

“I got more,” Jazz said in his own voice. “Like how you got the access codes for his recharge chamber…” The grip loosened slightly on his arm. “Like how you’re secretly reformatting yourself to use his fusion cannon.” The null ray vanished from the back of his neck. “I got the whole damn lot.”

“I’m going to shoot at you,” Starscream hissed, voice low. “And you’d better be quick, little Autobot, because I might not miss.”

With a wide grin threatening to separate his face plates, Jazz sprinted off along the hallway followed by the disconcerting whirr and zing of the null rays.

“Jazz, get on over here!” He heard Ironhide before he saw him, huddled behind a pile of crates. “Prime,” Ironhide activated his comms. “I’ve got him!”

A little hologram of Optimus’s head hovered just above Ironhide’s arm; it gave a quick nod. “Good,” Optimus said. “Let’s get out of here.”

It was easier said than done, but they managed to fight their way back up the tower to the surface.

“Man, am I glad to see you,” Jazz muttered, as the white bulk of Skyfire appeared, gleaming in the sun. He was ready to collapse, not quite sure how he’d managed to keep to his feet. Probably because Ironhide was tucked under one arm and Ratchet under the other, that could have something to do with it.

Optimus performed a quick headcount, and they piled into the shuttle.

“Thanks for comin’ for me,” Jazz said. Optimus patted him on the shoulder, gently.

“I’m not about to leave you in there,” he said. “It was a terrible risk you took.”

Jazz gave him a wide, happy smile. “But Prime, it was worth it.”

“So,” said Ratchet, as he inspected Jazz’s ruined hood. “Aside from the mission, you learn anything interesting down there?”

Jazz grinned through the pain; he couldn’t wait for his speakers to come back online. “Yeah,” he said. “You could say that.”


	2. Soundwave Makes a Discovery

Jazz lay on the repair berth and smiled up at the ceiling.

“Extend your camera cable,” Ratchet said, gripping his wrist. “Now, lift your right leg.”

Jazz did as he was told. Ratchet had disengaged the more sensitive of his receptors, but the gash Megatron had carved in his chest was still open, aching with each subtle draft caused by Ratchet’s careful movements.

“How long?” Jazz asked.

“‘Til you’re back on your feet?” Ratchet asked.

“I’d be on my feet now if I wasn’t laying down. How long ‘til I’m back in the game?” Jazz replied.

“A few weeks.”

Jazz huffed. “You really know how to cheer a mech up, you know that?”

“Yes, I really do,” Ratchet said. “I’m confining you to base until you’re back to full strength. And don’t give me that look. That look doesn’t work on me, you know that.”

“It was worth a try,” Jazz shrugged. In truth, the thought of spending several weeks in the Ark was actually quite tempting. Time to check over his memory banks and make doubly sure that Soundwave had only copied his files and hadn’t erased anything. There would also be time to restore the data he’d deliberately purged before going on the mission.

An all-frequencies comm. link buzzed into life. “Optimus to med bay. Ratchet, do you read?”

“Hey, Optimus!” Jazz called, before Ratchet could reply. “We read ya loud and clear.”

“Hey, Jazz. How are you feeling?”

“Better than ever,” Jazz replied. Ratchet gave him a look, but said nothing. “Perceptor got my system running yet?”

“It’s live,” Optimus said. “And the quality is excellent. Congratulations, Jazz.”

“Thanks, Prime.” Jazz grinned. “I can’t wait to see it.”

* * *

They were sitting fifteen feet apart, Megatron at a curved table covered in plans and datapads, and Soundwave in front of the Nemesis’s master computer. Hence, it was something of a surprise when Soundwave hailed his leader on a private comm. frequency.

“Request: we need to talk.”

Megatron continued to glare at a glowing datapad as though it had done him a personal injury, and drained the last few dregs from his energon cube. “Is there a problem?” he asked, responding on the same narrow band.

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replied. “We’re being watched. Autobot infiltration of security network at 87.4%. Visual and audio.”

Megatron fought the urge to look up. “Exceptions?”

“Your quarters, my quarters, and several other rooms with no logical pattern; sending co-ordinates now.”

The datapad flickered, and a string of numbers rolled across the bottom of the screen. So, the Autobots could see - and hear - almost everything they were doing. He saved the co-ordinates to his own memory banks and deleted them from the datapad. “How long has this been going on?”

“Their system has been live six hundred and two astroseconds and counting.”

“It was that little one, wasn’t it? The black and white one with the fragile bumper. Are you certain they have no access to private communications?”

“No comms access whatsoever,” Soundwave replied. “Only security footage. The systems are isolated.”

Aloud, Megatron called for more energon, and lifted his feet onto the table. It was an uncomfortable feeling, knowing that Prime was almost certainly watching him. The back of his helm started to itch.

“Query,” Soundwave said over their private channel, and there was an edge of something to his voice that Megatron hadn’t heard in a long time. Something that intrigued him. “Wiser to scour the system or plead ignorance? The advantages of the latter will almost certainly be worth the inconvenience.”

Megatron smiled, and bowed his head over the datapad to conceal his grin from the cameras. In his peripheral vision, Rumble and Frenzy fussed around the energon dispenser, bickering quietly, while in the far corner Skywarp pretended to pay attention to the long range sensors. Unselfconscious, all of them. He tried to wipe the smile off his face, but couldn’t. This was too good.

“Observation,” Soundwave continued. “Significant opportunity to affect enemy morale.”

After a while, Megatron managed to wrestle his faceplates back into a decorous frown. “I like the way you think,” he said.

“Appreciated,” Soundwave replied. “We will need to adjust security protocols.”

“Yes, but not by much.” Megatron leaned back and stretched, testing his joints. So what if Prime was watching? “We cannot appear to be too cautious, or to be feeding them false information.”

Jostling every step of the way, Rumble and Frenzy finally dumped a fresh cube on the table. Megatron nodded an acknowledgement, and picked up a new datapad. Dead End’s latest mission report; he put it down almost as quickly and reached for another. Wildrider… at least that one would be easy reading, what with all the little pictures.

There was a long pause before Soundwave spoke again. “Query: do you wish to inform Starscream?”

Megatron considered the question. “I can see arguments for and against,” he replied, that smile creeping back again. “How about we have a little fun and tell him afterwards?”

“Request: specify nature of ‘fun’?”

Megatron laughed aloud, not an uncommon occurrence when reading one of Wildrider’s reports, and wondered what Prime was making of their silent, workaday scene. He damned well better be watching. “The good kind,” he said across the comm. link. “Where is the insubordinate glitch, anyway?”

“On patrol. Due back in four joors, one breem, thirty-two astroseconds.”

“Excellent, we have time to prepare. Is there any way we can use this breach to access the Ark’s security system? We need to gauge their responses.”

“And calibrate our interactions accordingly,” Soundwave replied. “Already working on it.”


	3. The System Goes Live

“It’s amazin’!” Jazz exclaimed. After extensive welding, Ratchet had finally allowed him to walk the length of the Ark to Teletraan One’s main console.

“It certainly is,” Optimus agreed. The main screen was divided into several dozen smaller compartments, each one showing a view from Soundwave’s extensive and well-placed network of surveillance cameras.

“You can zoom in on each one,” Perceptor explained. “Select the room you wish to view, and press this button for sound. Sorry it isn’t labelled. And this panel has the usual controls for volume, picture quality and so on.”

“Show me the bridge,” Optimus said.

Perceptor nodded and flicked a switch. A view of Megatron filled the screen. He was seated at a desk, sipping energon and reading. Behind him, Soundwave monitored the ship’s main console, while Skywarp lay draped across a chair in front of another bank of machinery, his optics dimmed.

“Hot damn,” Jazz said. “It’s in colour and everything.”

Skywarp slipped a little lower in his chair, and his optics went offline. Soundwave shook his head, but took no further action.

“Well,” said Perceptor. “Isn’t it reassuring to note that the enemy have competent troops assigned to operate their most sensitive of instruments?”

Jazz laughed. “You could have put it in fewer words, but yeah, it really is.”

“Here,” Optimus said. He handed Jazz an energon cube, then poured one for himself. “Perceptor?”

“Not when I’m on duty,” Perceptor said.

“Awww!” Jazz took his cube and inhaled the fumes. “You’ve cracked open the high grade, and just for me? Thanks, Prime.”

“You deserve it,” Optimus said. “Ironhide and Prowl are debriefing the others. We can celebrate together once they’ve done, but I thought you might want a quiet cube of the good stuff first.”

“You know me,” Jazz said. “Always happy to get a head start.”

* * *

Left alone in the control room, Perceptor began to wonder whether it actually was Megatron he’d been watching these past few joors, or whether it was a cunningly disguised and intensely creepy automaton. The Decepticon commander hardly moved, he just sat at his desk, reading endless reports and drinking energon as though there was no shortage. Similarly, Soundwave moved very little. Every so often, he plugged himself in to the ship’s computer, but Perceptor had yet to determine exactly what it was he was doing. And neither of them spoke.

As for Skywarp, it was obvious what he was doing, but Megatron appeared not to have noticed. The seeker had slipped into recharge while Prime and Jazz were still in the room, and was slowly sliding down his chair. Rumble and Frenzy kept having hushed conversations about what prank they should play on him, but had yet to follow through.

When the peace was finally shattered, Perceptor found himself diving for the volume control.

Starscream was neither quiet nor calm. He stormed into the command centre, rain-damp and streaked with soot. Ignoring Megatron, he stalked over to his fellow seeker and kicked the chair out from under him.

“Wake up, you lazy heap of scrap metal!”

Skywarp landed with a clatter, optics flickering online.

“Good afternoon, Air Commander,” Megatron said, a predatory smile twisting his faceplates. “Skywarp, you’re off duty, go recharge.”

Perceptor suppressed a shudder, and turned the volume down even lower.

“Huh?” Starscream rounded on Megatron as Skywarp scrambled for the door. “You don’t expect me to take over his shift, do you? Not after I’ve been on patrol for half a revolution of this Primus-forsaken planet. I need to go get clean!”

“Oh, really?”

The door opened again, and Perceptor only just noticed Rumble and Frenzy hurry out, followed by Ravage, Ratbat, Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw. He panned over to see Soundwave closing his compartment. Perceptor knew full well how they all managed to fit in there, but it was still a strange thing to be confronted with.

“Look at me!” Starscream pointed at his streaked chassis. “All this… this organic filth! You can’t even escape from it in the air! It’s disgusting!”

“I don’t know,” Megatron said. “I think it’s rather becoming. What do you think, Soundwave?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replied. When he turned, his expressionless visored face finally came into view of the camera. “Suggestion: new paint-job in colours to mimic US army camouflage.”

Perceptor snickered. The look on Starscream’s face was priceless.

“You wouldn’t!” Starscream swept the datapads aside and leant over the desk towards Megatron. “I thought you liked red on white?”

Megatron smiled the cruellest and most unkind smile Perceptor had ever seen, and whispered something too low to hear.

For some reason he didn’t entirely understand, Perceptor had no desire to turn the volume back up. “Teletraan One,” he said. “Activate subtitles.”

 

* * *

“I do,” Megatron whispered. “But we could all use a change every once in a while. And you’re so…” He gestured dismissively at Starscream’s chassis. “Conspicuous.”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave commented. “Happy coincidence: appropriate coloured paint available in storage locker three, level six.”

Starscream glanced at Soundwave, then back at Megatron. “What, now? You can’t be serious! Come on, I need to re-energise…”

“You seem energetic enough to me,” Megatron commented.

Soundwave laughed, an unpleasant atonal sound that grated on Starscream’ audials.

Starscream glowered. The slaggers were hatching a plan, he just knew it. A plan against him, and it had nothing to do with his paint scheme. Not that he had any idea what it did have to do with, but he’d find out. Oh yes, and once he knew, Megatron would pay.

“That’s settled then,” Megatron said, giving Starscream the impression that there was a small portion of conversation that he had somehow missed. “Scrapper and Long Haul will assist with the patternation. Report back at 02:00 hours. That should give you ample time.”

“02:00 hours, but that's the middle of my recharge-” Starscream brought himself to a halt. Of course, the middle of his recharge cycle. A recharge cycle he wouldn’t be able to use this rotation. No wonder they weren’t winning the war.

His lip curled in a sneer, but he kept a hold on his vocaliser. “Yes, _mighty_ Megatron,” he snarled. He spun on his heel, ready to make his dramatic exit.

Megatron smirked. “Dismissed.”


End file.
